


He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

by MsChievous



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt/Comfort, I'm jumping on the bandwagon yall, M/M, Misunderstandings, Neglect, Poor Prompto, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-04-24 00:04:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14343786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsChievous/pseuds/MsChievous
Summary: Fromthiskinkmeme post:Prompto gets Hanahaki...Because of his unrequited love for his parents.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guess what all y'all??? IT'S MY FICVERSARY!!!! 
> 
> One year ago today, I posted my first fic in, like, 5 years. I went from a dead fandom (Yu-Gi-Oh) where I would be lucky to get a comment every third or fourth chapter I wrote, to one where I get 5-10 per chapter, sometimes MORE.
> 
> You have no idea how much I ADORE every kudos, comment, bookmark, and subscription, and I'm glad I got to give back to all of you who make the occasional slog of churning out content to be worth it.
> 
> All y'all are the real MVPs

“Gladio!” Prompto shrieks, flailing his arms and legs wildly in a desperate attempt to free himself.

But the hands wrapped around him don’t let go. Instead, they slide up his sides and dance under his armpits until out of instinct, Prompto elbows Gladio in the face.

Immediately, the hands draw away with a curse, and Prompto whirls around to face the brute. “Holy shit, I’m sorry!”

Gladio’s hands are clasped around his nose, but there’s no sign of blood, and his shoulders don’t seem to be shaking with tears, but instead laughter.

“I guess you weren’t joking about being incredibly ticklish then,” Gladio says. He carefully removes his hands from his nose and dabs at it experimentally.

“Hey, I warned you,” Prompto nudges him in the side. “I’m not responsible for what happens to you when you tickle me.”

With a grin, the shield wraps an arm around slim shoulders and draws the blond close. “Don’t worry, I believe you, blondie” Gladio ruffles the blond’s delicately quaffed locks and ignores the protests. “So why don’t we do something where one of us  _ doesn’t _ end up with a broken nose. D’you wanna watch that series I told you about?”

Prompto rolls his eyes in an exaggerated motion. “You and your romances,” he says, though he’s already walking towards the couch.

“You dissing the romances?” Gladio comes up from behind Prompto and wraps his meaty arms around the blond’s midsection, lifting up. The shield ignores shrieks for freedom eked out around laughter.

They tumble onto the couch together, and Prompto takes the opportunity to lean into Gladio’s chest. “Nah, I just like dissing  _ you _ ,” he says with a grin.

As the shield fiddles with the remote, Prompto pulls out his phone and checks to see if his parents responded to his texts about the rent hikes.    
  


_ February 12 _   
  


**Mom (4:18 a.m): smthn came up, will b gone for a while w dad.**

**Me (6:25 a.m): Okay, be safe love you!**   
  


_ May 15 _   
  


**Me (12:46 p.m): Hey guys, hope ur okay. The rent increased by a hundred. If u need, I can cover it tho.**   


 

He sighs and closes the phone. He still has a week before next month’s rent is due. They can get back to him in that time. It’s fine.

Still, as he stuffs his phone in his pocket, he can’t ignore a painful twinge in his chest. He tries to cough the feeling out, but the effort only leaves him breathless and oddly weak.

Gladio rubs his back soothingly. “You okay?”

Prompto shrugs. “Just a tickle in my throat."

“Your voice tired from all that screaming?” Gladio asks with a wink.

“Your nose still hurt?” Prompto shoots back, voice strained with his attempts to hold back more coughing. 

Gladio just snorts and draws him closer.   
  


* * *

  
  
A couple days pass, and his parents still haven’t gotten back to him about the increase in rent costs. He tries to let the anger and frustration melt away with his pumping legs and beating heart, but a sudden breathlessness stops him short.

  
He doubles over, trying to ride out the coughing fit until he can use his lungs again. 

  
When the moment passes, he fishes out his phone from his pocket and ignores his still-unanswered texts to his parents. Instead, he taps Gladio’s name and types.

 

**Me (8:32 a.m): Can u get asthma as an adult? Cause I think I just did.**

**Gladio (8:32 a.m): Yeah. We should probably take you to a doc then.**

 

His throat tickles again and the coughs tear through his body, this time so intensely that he feels lightheaded by the end. His eye catches on something fluttering to the ground: a tiny purple flower blossom.

_No_. Prompto’s heart drops to his feet. There has to be a lilac bush somewhere around here, this can’t be-  
Despite his feverish searching, he comes up empty. He glances at the ground again, hoping he just hallucinated the flower.

But no. There it is, pale purple against the grey asphalt. He turns back to the phone before another coughing fit has him doubling over again and more lilac blossoms spill out of his mouth. 

He tries to turn the thought around in his brain, what coughing up flowers /means/, but his brain refuses to believe it.

 

**Me (8:35 a.m) Nvmd i was being overdramatic**

**Gladio (8:36 a.m): Still better safe than sorry.**

**Me (8:36 a.m): I’m fine**

 

His phone buzzes again, but Prompto can’t quite bring himself to care. As he walks the rest of the way home, he mulls over the last few months of his relationship with Gladio.

How could he have been so /stupid/ to believe Gladio actually loved him? Prompto had confessed first, and then the shield played along, obviously because Prompto and Noctis were friends. 

When he finally makes it home to collapse in his bed, he means to take out his phone and text Gladio that it’s okay to break up with him, he understands, but he can’t seem to work up the energy to do anything else except take deep breaths and swallow down the coughing.

 

* * *

 

Prompto’s treating himself to some diner food after paying his rent (plus the increase) when his phone buzzes. For a moment, he’s hopeful it will be one of his parents, texting him an apology and that they’d send money right away.

 

**Gladio (6:07 p.m.): Hey squirt, I got some time off to go see that movie you’ve been excited about. I can snag some tix if you want? What showing?**

 

His lungs struggle to work without coughing as he types back that he’s busy.

 

**Gladio (6:08 p.m): :(**

**Gladio (6:10 p.m): Maybe later?**

**Me (6:11 p.m): yea**

 

As he slides the phone away, he can’t hold back the coughs. He tries to get as many blossoms into his napkin as possible, but a few still flutter to the table just as his waitress walks up with the check. She looks from him to the flowers to the napkin clutched in his hand.

“Oh, hun,” she says in a saccharine voice, “This is on the house.”

Prompto ducks his head to hide his flushing cheeks as he stutters out his thanks.

“I hope you get all that sorted, dear,” she says.

 

* * *

 

_ June 6 _

**Gladio (4:28 p.m): Hey, Prom, please talk to me. There has to be something I can do**

 

He can count six separate times in the past four days that he’s wanted to reply “actually love me,” but that’s unfair. Glad shouldn’t have love forced on him because Prompto’s too greedy for his own good.

With a sigh, he scrolls back through his texts. He swipes past ones from coworkers who heard he needed shifts to pay for rent and bestowed him with as many Friday night and weekend shifts as possible so they were free to party.

He hasn’t been able to work - let alone take a shift - in some time.

It’s when he’s debating whether or not to open his texts to his parents that he hears a knock at the door.

Just like with Gladio’s text, there’s a moment of hope when Prompto thinks that it will be his parents walking through that door with the crazy story of how they lost their phones. He slides the bucket of lilac blooms aside and stumbles out of bed. He manages to make it to the door and open it just wide enough to peek through.

Oh.

Noctis stares at Prompto for a minute, up and down, then raises his eyebrows, “You look like shit.”

“Love you too, bro,” Prompto rolls his eyes.

“No, seriously,” Noctis says, stepping through the doorway without waiting to be invited in. “You look /really/ bad.” He ignores Prompto’s sarcastic /thanks/, “Gladio sent me to check in on you ‘cause he thinks you’re upset with him. Are you?”

Prompto snorts, but the snort turns into a hacking cough. He tries to turn away and make a break for the bucket in his bedroom, but the flood of lilacs spill from his mouth like the cherry blossoms he saw a couple months ago with Gladio. The blossoms float delicately to the ground, a quasi-divide between Prompto and his friend. 

Immediately, Noctis snatches one off the ground and stares at it, then at him with narrowed eyes. “Is this because of Gladio?” he asks, in that voice of his that says he’s contemplating the best way to skin someone alive.

“Who else could it be?” Prompto asks with a shrug. “Not like there are people lined out the door to love me.”

“Come with me,” Noctis growls and latches his fingers around a slim wrist. His grip is so tight that Prompto doesn’t have a chance to wriggle free as the prince leads them out of the apartment.

“Gladio has some questions to answer.”

 

* * *

 

Ignis picks up on the tension in the air the moment Noctis slides in the back seat of the car with Prompto in tow.

“And where are we going?” he inquires mildly.

“Gladio’s” Noctis replies, just as mildly, though he doesn’t let Prompto’s wrist out of his vice-like grip.

Ignis purses his lips but wisely chooses to say nothing. 

“Really, Noct,” Prompto tries, but Noctis holds up a hand.

“Dude, I  _ really _ don’t want to hear it. If Gladio did… did what he did to you, he’s gonna have to face the consequences.” The hand the prince held up clenches in his lap.

“Why? It’s not his fault! I shouldn’t have gotten too att-” 

“Prompto, please do me a favor and shut up. Gladio could have had the decency to tell you he changed his mind so you could have an easy breakup. He  _ knew _ what could happen, but he still did it anyway.”

Prompto stares at the bottom of the car, trying to ignore his prickling eyes and strained throat. He manages to keep himself from asking Ignis to stop the car. Partly because he doesn’t want to have to walk home at this time of night, and partly because he wants answers too. 

Why would Gladio pretend to love him if he didn’t have to? Was it just a game? Or did he just want into Prompto’s pants to see if the curtains match the drapes?

He manages to hold back the coughs, but the tears still spill down his cheeks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one's handling Prompto's condition well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *casually slides in after a month-long accidental hiatus*
> 
> Man, I'm sorry guys. Idk what even happened, I just got busy. But I'm back! I have an idea for where this is going, and it seems like we're going to be wrapping up in the next two chapters or so, so be hyyyyype~

A faint etching noise forces Prompto’s eyes open. it takes a few seconds for the ceiling above him to morph into focus, then a few more seconds for him to realize that scratching noise is actually Noctis, writing in a notebook.

The prince glances up at the sound of movement, then sets the notebook down in his lap. “Hey, Prom, how you doing?”

The blond takes a moment to think before responding. He presses his fingers against the mouth of the trach tube poking out of his throat so he could rasp out, “Could be worse,” though they can both figure out that it’s all a lie. Then he glances down at the notebook in Noctis’ lap, raising his eyebrows pointedly.

“Reading homework. Journaling about some poems we read in class. I can do yours for you if you want?” The prince offered. “After all, you kinda have an excuse not to do it.”

With a shake of his head, Prompto covered the mouth of the trach tube again. “C’mon, homework’s the _last_ thing we should be doing right now.”

“Oh?” Noctis says with a grin, “And why’s that?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Prompto crackles. “You’ve seen the x-rays. It’s not like there’s much more room in my lungs for air. It’s in my _throat_. I can’t have much time left.”

Noctis’ face crumples, “Prompto, no, don’t think like that.”

“What the hell _am_ I supposed to think?” Prompto’s voice starts to fade towards the end, “They cut a hole in my throat so I can fucking breathe, dude.”

That makes Noctis pause for a bit. Then, he shifts in his seat and brings up the notebook so he can continue writing. “The specialist will be here as soon as possible,” he says, “she’ll be able to help you.”

Prompto just relaxes into the pillow and allows the scritching of Noctis’ pencil and the painkillers to lull him back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s never unusual to see Gladio in the training room, practicing whatever advanced maneuver he had his heart set on learning that week. But usually when Clarus entered the room, Gladio would sense it and stop.

But his intensity towards the training dummy is like nothing Clarus has seen from his son before. The way Gladio’s whaling down on his targets makes it fairly easy to tell that his son is extremely upset about something. Perhaps even as upset as he had been when his mother had died all those years ago. He hadn’t been strong enough or skilled enough to lift a sword in anger back then, but the dents that still lay scattered around their house were a testament to his emotions that day.

Perhaps out of morbid curiosity, Clarus leans back against the doorjamb and watches Gladio’s movements carefully. Part of him wishes he could record the practice, to show his son what he can do when blinded by his emotions. After all, any competent swordsman would be able to duck under his swings and there are no seconds chances in a fight. Strength alone can’t win, especially when tainted by emotion.

Finally, when the dummy has its stuffing sufficiently beat out of it, Gladio throws his practice sword to the floor and follows it down, pounding his fist against the mats in anger.

Clarus steps forward, quirking an eyebrow at his son’s display of rage. “Did the floor do something to upset you?” He asks, “Personally, I’ve always found it rather grounding.”

His son whirls around in surprise and they lock eyes. It takes a moment for him to register, but he soon relaxes with a snort. “Just working out. As usual. Is there something you need?”

Despite his aching back, Clarus kneels down next to his son. “Well,” he says, as conversationally as he can, “I _would_ like to know where my son’s head has been this past week. After all, he’s usually so conscientious.”

“Ha ha,” Gladio intones. “It’s been on my shoulders, like usual.”

“Has it really? And is that why you didn’t notice me watching you?”

With a groan, Gladio leans back on his arms. “I’m fine, dad. It’s nothing, really.”

Clarus nods. “I’m quite sure. And this “nothing” is keeping you from your duties for the past… for the past week, hasn’t it been? What a coincidence.”

“He’s not the king yet,” Gladio says with a shrug, “I’m allowed to have some fucking free time, aren’t I?”

A quirked eyebrow was all it took for his son to realize what he said, but Clarus still continued, “Care to try that again?”

He had trained his son not to fluster easily, but it was no surprise when Gladio started to stumble over his words. “G-gods, yeah. I just… he’s with Prompto, and… and I just can’t be with Prompto right now.”

 _Ah, so that’s what it is_. He lays a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Boyfriend troubles?” He asks. It’s understandable, of course, but nothing should stand in a Shield’s way of protecting his king, even discomfort with the king’s best friend.

Gladio shrugs. “I-I mean, kinda? It’s… w- Prompto has Hanahaki,” he says, then turns to watch his father’s expression.

Clarus can’t help the utter shock that flits over his face before he schools it into a look of neutrality.

“B-but I didn’t give it to him. I’m sure of that. But he...he and Noctis are convinced that it is. Obviously. So I can’t see him. Noctis spends all of his time with him. So I can’t be with Noctis without being with Prompto.”

“So it’s their fault then?” He asks.

Gladio shakes his head with an angry grunt. “Look, I don’t know. Prompto doesn’t want to see me, so I won’t bother him. It’s not my job to make him better. And Noctis won’t let me come anyway.”

“You’re in somewhat of a Catch-22, aren’t you?” Clarus studies his son’s expression for a few moments, trying to read the face that had been so open years before. The one that wasn’t afraid to cry or scream in public, before the burden of their bloodline had been thrust upon his shoulders.

“Well,” he continues, heaving himself to his feet and walking away, “You’re rather dirty. Clean up before dinner.”

He shuts the door behind him, but lingers a few moments more, until he can hear faint sniffling that turns into muffled tears on the other side. He walks away quickly and makes a mental note to convince Iris to have a sleepover at her friend’s house tonight.

 

* * *

 

 _You have reached the voice mailbox of …_ Lutum Argentum … _Leave your message at the tone. To leave a callback number, please press 1_.

Prompto pressed his fingers against the mouth of the trach tube. “Hey mom, it’s me. Uh, Prompto. Again. I just... “ He held the phone away from his mouth as the coughs tore through his chest painfully. When they subsided again, he brought the phone back.

“Sorry,” he rasped. “It’s just… a reminder that I’m in the hospital… and… and it’s serious. Uh, hanahaki.” He pauses to catch his breath. “There’s a specialist coming, but the surgery’s really dangerous. Only 25% chance of survival. I guess… I guess I was hoping you and dad could come over?”

He pauses, mentally slapping himself over how stupid and needy that sounded. “Like, I get that it’s inconvenient and short notice, but it would mean a lot if you came. So, uh, I hope to see you here. Bye, love you,” he quickly pressed the end call button before another wave of coughs nearly suffocated him.

Noctis watches him levelly. From the look on his face, Prompto knows what his friend is thinking, but just for good measure, the prince says, “It’s not inconvenient, especially when you told them the same thing a few days ago. If they haven’t gotten back to you, that’s on them. Frankly, I’m surprised you’re still _talking_ to them.”

“Noct, they’re my _parents_ . I _love_ them.”

Noctis stares at him for a few more minutes, as if he’s a painting that the prince doesn’t quite understand. “Still, dude. It’s really shitty of them to keep ghosting you like that. The least they can do is straight up tell you that they’re avoiding you.”

Prompto’s heart hammers in his throat, and blood thunders in his ear. “Shut up!” He hisses out with all the force he can, “You don’t know what they _sacrificed_ to take me in! I owe them _everything_.”

The outburst leaves him even more breathless than usual, and he has to lay back against the pillows until the dizziness goes away.

“I’m sorry, dude, I just… I just see the way they treat you and I get mad, cause, like, that’s not how you treat a kid.”

“I’m not a kid, Noct,” Prompto sighs. “Please, can we stop talking about this?”

The prince purses his lips. “Okay. Fine. I’ll finish up your homework here then I’ll have Iggy bring my console over so we can play King’s Knight. Okay?”

Prompto nods, though the excitement has started to wear off and he can feel his eyelids growing heavier and heavier.

 

* * *

 

It’s a couple days later when Prompto ends up watching Noctis play a new game he’d been talking about. It’s no King’s Knight and it’s only single player, but now that every action seemed to cost half his daily supply of energy, he was more than content to lean on Noctis’ shoulder and drift in and out of consciousness while the prince played his game.

As he was drifting, in one of his moments of clarity, he sat up a little straighter. “Hey Noct?” he asks.

Noctis turns to glance at him. He must see something in Prompto’s expression because he pauses the game and faces him fully. “What’s up? Do you need something?”

Prompto nods slowly. “Does the, uh, does the Citadel have, like _lawyers_. Or… or something?”

“I mean, I’d guess so. If not, we could get some damn good ones in. Why? Wanna sue your parents or something?”

With a groan, Prompto allows himself to collapse back into his pile of pillows. “Noctis, no. I just… I figure with a 25% success rate, it’s really likely I’m going to die, right? So I should make a will. I mean, I don’t have a lot of stuff, but still.” He sneaks a glance at Noctis and almost wishes he hadn’t.

Emotions flash across Noctis’ face: surprise, anger, sadness, fear, before a detached neutrality takes hold and remains. “I… I understand.” The prince’s voice sounds almost as crackly as Prompto’s, and tears rim the edges of his eyes. “I’m sure I can get you the best damn lawyer in Lucis. When do you want them?”

Prompto shrugs as he starts to fade out of consciousness. “B’fore th’ surgery,” he manages, and then he’s falling down into blissful darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very proud of my name for Prompto's mom in this. I think it fits her perfectly~


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discoveries are made

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit it's been more than a month since I updated hahaha it totally hasn't been because I fucked up with scheduling and thought a convention was a month before it actually was and then rushed to finish costumes only to figure out my mistake literal hours before said convention....
> 
> no, that totally didn't happen.
> 
> Sorry for the wait again, I can't promise that the next chapter will happen quicker, but I hope so!

“Six damn this wifi,” A Hanahaki specialist from Tenebrae hisses as she repeatedly tries to refresh her e-mail in the hopes of getting back to the document that would tell her all about her newest patient. 

When her tablet finally displays the error message, she opens up the documents she had managed to save before entering the wifi dead zone. There isn’t much more than basic information about her patient: age, physical characteristics, vague symptoms, and date and time of admittance.

He’s younger than most, a few months away from adulthood, and she can’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy in her gut. He’s also been in the hospital two weeks already. It’s very likely he doesn’t have much time left, and she’s still stuck on this  _ damn _ train.

 

* * *

 

Clarus examines his son’s face from across the dining room table. His eyebrows are drawn together, and his lips are pressed forward in a faint pout - a familiar sight of Amicitia surliness.

“Glaring at your meal won’t make me feel better,” he says pointedly.

Gladio glances up, then closes his eyes in a way that Clarus  _ knows _ from experience means he’s rolling his eyes. “At this point, dad, I’m pretty sure nothing will.”

“What a grim outlook.”

“I call it realistic.”

The elder Amicitia raised his eyebrows. “‘Realistic’, hm?” He says, “You remind me of Cor. He’s always so gruff and pessimistic.”

“What is there to be optimistic about?” Gladio demands, “Prompto’s dying, and he won’t let me anywhere near him while he is! And I’m getting the blame for it all. Even  _ Iggy _ doesn’t want to be around me that much anymore.”

Clarus sighs. “These are serious issues, and they won’t go away-”

“No  _ shit, _ ”

“ _ But… _ ” The elder Amicitia emphasized, “if you just talk it out, maybe you can work something out.”

The younger Amicitia hissed, “I already told you they don’t want to talk.”

“You’ve always been good about making your voice heard. I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

 

* * *

 

**June 15**

 

**Gladio (7:13 p.m): Hey, can we please talk? I know you don’t wanna hear from me, but I just need to have a discussion?**

**Gladio (7:20 p.m.): Seriously. It’s not all that easy for me to deal with all this shit too you know. I just want to talk**

**Noctis (7:22 p.m.): This is Ignis. His Highness is otherwise occupied and has made it clear that he does not wish to associate at this time.**

**Gladio (7:23 p.m.): Well, how about you? You’re sensible**

**Noctis (7:23 p.m.): Sensible, but not foolish. Give Noctis a few days, and I’m sure it will all work out.**

 

* * *

 

Noctis starts awake when a hand jostles him. He opens his eyes, trying to peer through the bleariness to focus on what is attempting to wrest him from his warm cocoon.

“Highness,” Ignis says before his face can quite morph into clarity, “You need to wake up.”

It takes a few moments for the words to register, then a few more to actually work up the will to obey them. 

He is halfway to sitting up when he realizes Prompto is sprawled half on top of him, legs intertwined with his own. The prince sighs and leans back down. “Sorry Iggy,” he says with a half-grin, “I’ve got a sleeping Prom on me. It would really suck to move him, wouldn’t it?”

Ignis returns the smile with a faint one of his own. “As terrible as that would be, the specialist is signing in as we speak, and it would be polite for you to appear modestly presentable.”

The words send a bolt of excitement and dread to his stomach.

As delicately as he can, he untwines Prompto’s limbs from his own and manages to stumble to his feet and run a hand through his hair. He’s barely finished when there’s a knock on the door.

Ignis opens it to reveal a middle-aged woman with sensible brown hair and glasses.

The woman smiles, then looks from Ignis, to Noctis, to Prompto, and back to Noctis. With a low bow, she extends her hand. “Your Highness,” she says in faintly accented Lucian, “Dr. Sypha Orejan at your service.”

Noctis scans her face as he takes her hand. “Please just call me Noctis,” he says with little more in the way or royal diplomacy than a wan facsimile of the smile she wears.

Sypha looks momentarily taken aback, but quickly recovers. She glances pointedly at where Prompto has shifted into the warm indent left by Noctis’ body on the bed. “I apologize, but I couldn’t get much information from his files, so I’ll have to talk to him directly, if he can still talk.”

_ For now _ , Noctis tries very hard not to think.

After more than a little prodding from the prince, the blond manages to open his eyes. His gaze is distant and cloudy for a while, until Noctis more insistently forces him into a sitting position.

“Hey, Prom, I need you to wake up for me please,” he says, “The specialist is here. She can help.” He glances over at Sypha, almost for confirmation, but the doctor makes no move to confirm or deny.

_ I guess that’s fair. _

Prompto mumbles something incomprehensible, then blinks up at the doctor. He seems ready to speak, but Sypha cuts him off gently. 

“Prompto, is it? My name is Dr. Sypha Orejan. I’m a Hanahaki specialist. I just have a few questions for you to answer, if you feel up to it?”

It seems to take a moment for Prompto to process the request, but he nods.

“Okay, we’ll start with something easy. How long has it been since you noticed the first symptoms?”

After a few moments’ thought, the blond responds in that crackly voice Noctis has grown to hate so much, “A month.”

The doctor doesn’t manage to hide her surprise in time. “A month? Is that when you started expelling flower petals?”

Prompto nods, which only serves to shock her more.

“Pardon my saying so, but you should be dead. Quite honestly, I have no idea how you’re alive.”

“Spite, probably.”

Sypha bites back a laugh and pulls out a clipboard. “So this started around mid-May, you noticed floral expulsion, how about any shortness of breath? Itching in the back of the throat?”

As Prompto nods, Sypha furrows her brows and makes a few notes. “And what kind of flowers have you been expelling?”

“Lilacs,” Prompto responds.

The doctor immediately stops writing and snaps her head up to look at Prompto. Her face morphs into something almost… contrite… and she steps closer. “And you say you think it’s because of your boyfriend, right?” She asks softly. 

Prompto ducks his head and practically jerks away from the question. Anger stirring in his chest, Noctis is already halfway to stepping in when Sypha continues.

“Honestly, I’m going to strangle every romance author for the bullshit they spread. It’s a common misconception that you can only get Hanahaki from romantic or sexual love. Hanahaki preys on  _ any _ kind of unrequited love. In fact, around ten percent of Hanahaki cases involve unrequited platonic love.”

She takes a deep breath. “Lilacs represent familial love. So, if a family member, or… or family mem _ bers  _ do not share feelings of love and affection, then the sufferer will expel lilac blossoms.”

Noctis sees the exact moment when Prompto realizes what the specialist is implying, but the blond makes no move to deny the possibility.

“Unless I miss my guess,” Sypha continues, “there’s been no singular event to set off the episode, but rather a series of events. Perhaps they don’t respond when you talk, or they don’t provide for you as well as they do other family members or as well as they should. Something of that ilk?”

“More like they’re never fuckin’ around,” Noctis mutters.

Sypha glances sidelong at Noctis, but waits for Prompto to respond.

“I-I dunno,” Prompto rasps back, “’s always like this, so it’s no big deal. I guess I’m used t’ it.”

The specialist takes off her glasses and looks directly at Prompto. “It’s no big deal if you don’t mind dying,” she says conversationally. She ignores Noctis and Prompto both staring at her in shock, “If you wanna have a shot, you have to confront these emotions head on. Talk to your parents, clear the air-“

“You think I haven’t  _ tried _ ?” Prompto hisses, “I  _ have _ , they just won’t bother listening. I call and I call and I text and I text but they never pick up or respond. What else can I fucking  _ do _ ?”

He’s breathing heavily by the end of his tirade, lungs and machines working overtime to supply the necessary oxygen.

There’s a pregnant pause, interrupted by Ignis, who, until this moment, has been unobtrusively standing in the corner pretending not to listen in. 

“Well, I can see you’ve exhausted every resource at your disposal to solve your issue,” he says, sliding his phone into his pocket, “Thankfully, the royal family has many more you can rely on. I’m sure your parents dare not ignore a summons from His Majesty, and, if they do, A kingsglaive will be sent to collect them. Does that sound satisfactory?”

For a moment, it looks like Prompto wants to protest, but he deflates back against the pillows and nods. 

After Ignis has left, Prompto turns to Sypha. 

“So you’re /sure/ that Gladio isn’t the cause of my Hanahaki?” He asks. Noctis can hear the painfully bare hope in his voice.

Sypha smiles. “I’m as sure your boyfriend isn’t the cause of your disease as I am that if I drop this pen, it will fall.”

Prompto nods, slowly, fighting against obviously drooping eyelids. “I wan’ see ‘im,"

But before Noctis or anyone else can respond, his eyes slide shut, and his breathing deepens. 

  
  


* * *

 

**June 17**

 

**Noctis (2:37 p.m.): hey we need to talk**

**Gladio (2:49 p.m.): About what?**

**Noctis (2:50 p.m.): oh gee i wonder what i wanna talk about. ur a big boy figure it out**

**Gladio (2:50 p.m.): Look. You told me to stay away. I’m staying away. Sorry, Your Royal Assness.**

**Noctis (2:51 p.m.): 1st off fuck off 2nd u really need to come here. I can order u**

**Gladio (2:55 p.m.): Fine. Be there in twenty.**

**Noctis (2:56 p.m.): thank the gods**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls feel pity for me b/c it's 90 degrees here and the A/C went out :'(


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the knowledge that Prompto's parents are the cause of his illness, reunions are made, and bonds are broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyyyyy, so y'all really wanted this chapter, didn't you? Well, I'm glad, since I had an absolute blast writing it! I hope you enjoy this finale!
> 
> I have two giveaway fics to finish, then it's on to the next work in the "Me, Myself, and the Daemons in my Closet" series~

Noctis rubs the nape of his neck, looking down so he doesn’t have to see his shield’s expression. “So, yeah. We all kinda messed up. Sorry.”

Gladio’s face doesn’t betray much of his emotion, but he staggers back a bit, pressing his hand against the wall to steady himself. He furrows his brows and opens his mouth, and Noctis is half-ready to never hear the end of it, but instead, the shield stops short and takes a deep breath.“So… so… it’s not my fault,” he says, more for his own benefit than anyone else’s. He glances up at Ignis for confirmation.

The advisor nods. “The specialist is quite certain.”

“O-okay. I’m going to go see him. Is… is he okay?”

Ignis clears his throat and glances at Noctis, a tell that Gladio has learned means Ignis is trying to be as diplomatic as possible. “The condition is serious, but we’re all doing everything we can.”

Unable to wait, Gladio pushes into Prompto’s room, but immediately stops short at the sight that awaits him. “What is… I don’t get it… what’s the…. the  _ thing _ in his neck?”

Ignis places a hand on Gladio’s shoulder. “It’s called a trach tube. The disease spread to his throat, so the trach tube helps him breathe and speak still, though there is some difficulty.”

Gladio takes another steadying breath and drags over the chair from the corner, flinching slightly at the sound of plastic scraping over the tile floor. It’s a loud enough sound that Prompto stirs from his sleeping and opens his eyes with a faint hum.

“Hey, blondie, how are you feeling?”

Prompto takes a moment to blink up at him, then presses his fingers against the plastic mouth of the trach tube. “Gla’io?”

The sound of Prompto’s normally upbeat voice sounding so weak and broken sends a pang of heartache through the shield’s chest and he resists the violent urge he’s gotten used to unleashing the past month. Instead, he meets Prompto’s shaky arms halfway as the blond attempts to reach out for him with what little strength he muster. 

The feeling of Prompto’s spine poking through his skin, and the lines of cheekbones barely visible on freckled cheeks has him gentling his actions even further as he brushes his hand down the blond’s back and pulls him closer so Prompto only has to let those frail arms be supported by the shield’s broad shoulders.

“I’m so sorry,” Prompto murmurs, “I’m glad you came back.”

Gladio wants to shout that of  _ course _ he would come back, but he bites down on the urge and pulls back to press a kiss against Prompto’s forehead. “I’m glad you wanted me back.”

 

* * *

 

Lutum Argentum wakes up to an insistent knocking noise on the door to her apartment. She slips on her indoor robe and slippers and shuffles over to the door. 

She opens it to reveal a young man in a pressed Crownsguard uniform. He’s carrying a thick envelope which he holds out to her. “Lutum and Arlo Argentum, your presence has been formally requested by His Majesty, King Regis Lucis Caelum CXIII. 

The envelope is fancier than it has right to be, considering the exorbitant property tax she’s still paying for the kid to stay where he is until she’s gotten around to kicking him out. 

“What are we being summoned for?” She asks. It was probably something stupid the kid did, if his past record was any indication, he had a penchant for getting into all sorts of trouble.

“I wasn’t told, ma’am. I merely need to make sure you receive and read the letter.”

Lutum flicks her gaze to the Crownsguard before rolling her eyes and breaking the wax seal on the back. 

“This… this date is in two days. You can’t possibly think I can drop everything for the king. Plane tickets alone would-“

“All arrangements have been made and paid for by the Crown.”

“My husband and I  _ work _ . We can’t just get up and-“

“All arrangements have been made and paid for by the Crown,” the crownsguard repeated, “Simply bring your identification to the Altissian airport and you’ll be escorted to a private plane. From there, you will be escorted to your final destination and back at your behest.”

A private plane? There  _ and _ back? Well, if the kid was going to be a troublemaker, at least he was one that got her and her husband to ride in style. “Well, if everything will be taken care of, I suppose it’s my solemn duty to obey my king, is it not?”

The Crownsguard’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but she ignores it. After all, none of hers did the same.

 

* * *

 

The private plane isn’t as nice as she was hoping, but it was still much better than she would have gotten on another plane. There are a couple couches, though they’re a nondescript grey fabric instead of leather and the countertops of the kitchenette aren’t even granite. 

But she supposes the king doesn’t spend all his money on planes for people he summons, though if he gets that money from taxes, he really should. After all,  _ she’s _ putting her best foot forward with the clothes she’s wearing, the king should really be expected to do the same with her surroundings.

When the plane finally lands in Lucis, she and her husband are whisked into a sleek black car driven by a homely lady with a dusty brown bob that makes her looks older than she likely is. Lutum has half a mind to give her style pointers but realizes before she opens her mouth that she doesn’t care. Besides, not much could go with that Crownsguard uniform.

The woman seems to find the pair of them distasteful anyway. She barely looks at or speaks to them outside of sidelong looks in the rearview mirror. 

Instead of driving to the Citadel for whatever important meeting they’re supposed to have, the woman turns onto the highway. After a few minutes of driving, she turns into the parking lot of a hospital.

“The king is summoning us  _ here _ ? For what purpose?”

“The king will discuss that further with you when you reach your destination,” the woman says as she parks the car.

Lutum and her husband slide out of the car, straightening their clothes. “Then lead the way,” Lutum says.

 

* * *

 

The Crownsguard leads them to the observation ward, in front of a door with an informal nameplate reading “Argentum”. So the kid  _ had _ gotten himself into trouble. Great. 

The door opens, and the Crownsguard practically shoves them into the room.

The king is sitting in a crappy plastic chair in the corner with an imposing balding man staring daggers at them for some Six-forsaken reason. On the bed in the middle of the room, the kid is sleeping, hooked up to a bunch of machines she doesn’t understand and doesn’t care to.

The king looks up from the documents he was reading and slides the glasses off his nose and into the breast pocket of his shirt. “You’re Prompto’s parents, I presume?” he asks.

Lutum and Arlo share a glance before nodding. Lutum even manages a, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I see.” The king’s eyes turn cold. “It has come to my attention that you have been avoiding your son’s attempts to get in contact with him for medical and emotional assistance. You have ignored these attempts, according to your own phone records which show the calls going through and going to voicemail.”

Arlo starts to sputter out an explanation, but Lutum elbows him in the side. “We’ve been busy. Work is very important to us and it is very difficult for us to get any sort of break. We can only take time off now because you have made arrangements for us to be with our child. Unfortunately, not everyone has the funds of an entire country to make sure they can have time with their children. Nor is he a child anymore. We are perfectly within our right to let him live on his own.”

The balding man behind the king whistles, as if he’s impressed. 

The king, however, remains steadfast, smiling that smile that somehow looks scary.  “I hope you realize the gravity of what you are saying. He’s still seventeen. Not only that, but he has signed up for Crownsguard training when he turns eighteen, so any threat to his life shall be dealt with as we would any member of the Crown. Your neglect is causing an illness that will lead to his death. If you choose to continue your apathy, the Crown will have to take official action.

Lutum and Arlo look at each other again but stay stoic in the face of the charges the king is levying against them.

‘I’m glad you understand,” The king says, handing his files to the bald man and pressing a hand to the kid’s shoulder. “Prompto, wake up. Your parents are here.”

It takes a few minutes for the kid to finally wake up, but he seems to manage well enough once he’s been shaken a bit.

He looks from Lutum to Arlo to the king then back.

“We’ll both be just outside the door if you need us,” The king says to the pair of them before hobbling out with the bald man. 

After a beat, Lutum strides close to the kid’s bed and leans in so she can hiss without being overheard, “You  _ tattled _ on us? Are you a  _ child _ ?”

“Yes! I’m still a seventeen!” He rasps out through that plastic contraption that  _ has _ to cost more money than he’s worth. “Please, I just- I just want to talk. A-about us.”

“What is there to talk about? We’re very busy. You know this. You’ve  _ always _ been good about being on your own, I don’t know what’s changed.”

“I’ve  _ never _ been good at being on my own, I’ve only been good at hiding that I’m not. I still need you to help me, but you’ve never been there!”

“Honestly, Prompto, you’re practically an adult already, there’s no need to cry to the king. I thought you were better than this.”

“I thought you were better than this too. I guess we’re both disappointments, huh?”

Fury curls up in Lutum’s chest like a snake about to spring. If the king wasn’t right outside the door, she’d probably teach the kid a lesson with the back of her hand, but the little shit’s got all his bases covered like the manipulative ass he is. Instead, she snaps straight and storms for the door. “We’re leaving. The  _ minute _ you turn eighteen, you’re no longer our son. Understand?”

“Better than ever,” the ungrateful bastard spits.

 

* * *

 

After the bitch and the bastard-  _ Prompto’s parents _ storm off, Noctis pokes his head in. His friend’s staring at his hands as if he doesn’t quite know if they’re real.

He slips in, and Gladio and Ignis follow close behind. 

The shield makes himself at home on Prompto’s bed, shifting them around so he’s sitting behind Prompto with his legs splayed, a firm surface for the blond to lean on. 

“How’d it go?” Noctis finally asks. 

Prompto shrugs. “About as well as I was expecting. I think they’re madder at me than they were before, which is fun. But I think I kinda hate them too, a little bit, so I guess it’s even.”

“If you harbor any love for them, it’s not even, I assure you,” Ignis said, “But it's not entirely unexpected either.”

Prompto shrugs. “I guess… I guess I shouldn’t love them because they’re assholes. I know that, it’s just… I can’t help it. They did so much for me when I was young, I just… ugh. Maybe in the future, I’ll get over it, but I don’t think I can now.”

Gladio rubs Prompto’s shoulders comfortingly. “It’s okay, no one’s expecting that of you right now. Just concentrate on getting better.”

He pulls Prompto close to his chest, petting his hair and smiling contentedly as the blond nuzzles his head under the brute’s chin. In any other instance, Noctis would probably fake gag at the saccharine PDA, but considering everything they went through, Noctis figures they deserve this little bit of happiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm uploading this around my playthrough of the Pitioss Ruins and I want to cry this dungeon actually hates me. This mind-bending Escher shit is too much.

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the formatting seems weird to me in the preview??? lmk if it's just my imagination


End file.
